


graveyard ghosts

by izabellwit



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Developing Friendships, Eventual Happy Ending, Found Family, Gen, Ghosts, Grief/Mourning, Identity Issues, Kingdom Hearts χ Spoilers, Lies, Memory Loss, Old Friends, Past Character Death, Post-Kingdom Hearts III, Redemption, Speculation, instead he gets a multiverse journey discovering his own past HUZZAH, lauriam would like his sister back please
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:26:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24773848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/izabellwit/pseuds/izabellwit
Summary: In the aftermath of the Keyblade War, a newly re-created Lauriam wakes up in the Keyblade Graveyard— and he isn’t alone.
Relationships: Brain & Ephemer & Lauriam & Skuld & Ventus (Kingdom Hearts), Elrena & Lauriam (Kingdom Hearts), Larxene & Marluxia (Kingdom Hearts), Lauriam & Ephemer
Comments: 20
Kudos: 104





	1. ephemer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've loved Kingdom Hearts for YEARS, but khux is the one game that hits me hardest. End of the world? Epic friendship? Betrayal? Bonding? Memory loss? Former heroes becoming villains without realizing?
> 
> Anyways, I couldn't NOT write something for it all dsakjfghj

It is like waking up from a long slumber, it is like—drowning, maybe. The stars and the sea and darkness in his lungs. Marluxia exhales a laugh. 

Lauriam breathes in. 

He opens his eyes to a starry sky and dusty plains, a voice on the wind. He realizes he is crying. He realizes his chest hurts. He puts a hand over his heart, and feels it aching.

He is in a graveyard. A crossroads. A battlefield now empty. The millions upon millions of blades stabbing upward like teeth, the untended graves of the world he once knew. And in the wind—

_"Hello again, old friend."_

“E-Ephemer..?”

—the start of something new.

.

He realizes a few things, in quick succession: he is Lauriam, he has a heart, he was Marluxia once and now no longer, and he—

He is missing something.

He names the voice on the wind and panics just as quickly; the familiarity gone with the breeze. Who is Ephemer? Who is he? As Marluxia the loss was grating, annoying at best, but now the pockets in his memory feel like pits. He remembers... he remembers...

“I was looking for someone,” Lauriam whispers, and it feels like nothing at all. Not enough. “I...”

_"You don’t remember?"_

His eyes squeeze shut. “N-no.”

There is a long pause. At last, the voice says, " _Do you know who I am?"_

Lauriam takes a breath. The words wither on his tongue. He could lie, easily—but lying to this not-quite-stranger feels like taking a blade to the heart. His exhale is pained. “…No.”

_"Oh._

_"…You fell farther than I thought."_

It feels like a blow. He can’t breathe. “I—“

 _"That’s okay! That’s fine. I’m sorry."_ The voice—the boy?—is babbling now, quick and earnest. " _We all fell, I think, in our own ways... I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry."_

“We?” Lauriam manages. He feels dizzy, or maybe sick. He feels on the edge of some great revelation. As if he has just been handed the last piece to a puzzle he didn’t know he was solving. It terrifies him. 

_"Yes, we all… well. You all. I, I didn’t…"_

Lauriam waits. For a long moment, the boy is utterly silent. When he speaks again that whispering voice is hushed and pained. " _I don’t really have the right to judge you at all, do I? After all, I…"_ Another pause, weighted and heavy. " _I’m sorry I left you alone."_

A flash of irritation burns through him. “What are you talking about? I don’t even know who you are!”

 _"I’m a friend,"_ this voice says, firmly. " _Um, an ally? "_ Unsure, there, almost sheepish. And then, quiet, with a fondness Lauriam does not recall— " _I am with you. Always."_

It’s not an answer at all, but something about the words settles him; Lauriam exhales, slowly, and climbs gingerly to his feet. The more he looks, the more sure he becomes: he’s woken up again in the Keyblade Graveyard, that place of the final battle between light and dark—though it’s empty, now, abandoned in full. He looks off into the distance, eyes trailing across the piles upon piles of Keyblades, dead and cold. He wonders how he knows they’re useless. He wonders why the thought of picking one up makes him want to scream. 

In the end, he has to look away. His hand presses hard against his chest. Hearts. Such troublesome things. He’s forgotten how to bear one.

Lauriam starts walking. “Who was I, then, to wake up here? To name a ghost of this place?”

Another pause. The voice hums. " _So_ _, you’ve forgotten even that?"_

“I—”

Laughter echoes in his ears. " _Never mind. Reach out your hand."_

He scowls at the air. “What are you doing?”

_"Please. Just do it?"_

I don’t know you, Lauriam thinks. But his heart beats loud in his chest, and after a heavy sigh, he does as asked. “I don’t see how—”

_"Close your eyes."_

Lauriam grits his teeth, and closes his eyes. He tries to breathe.

_"You said you remembered very little. But, well… what little do you remember?"_

A voice—this voice—clear and bright and speaking fast. Laughter, five-fold. A city in the light of daybreak. His hand on someone’s shoulder, smiling, saying— _Strelitzia, like this—_

His heart aches. His eyes burn. Something heavy falls into his hand, and Lauriam opens his eyes.

His blood runs cold. 

_"You were like me,"_ says the voice. " _You were a Keyblade wielder."_

Lauriam stares at the blade. Then he starts to laugh.

.

The irony of it is too much. For a moment he loses himself to it, caught in the rising throes of emotion from a heart he has forgotten how to have. He laughs until he realizes he’s crying, and then the shock of it snaps him out of it; the Keyblade drops, his breath stuttering. He coughs. He kneels on the ground.

_"Lauriam? Are you okay?"_

He pushes himself up, stunned by the fit; he scrubs at his face and feels emotion flutter in his chest. He doesn’t know the name of it, except that it is alien to him. He presses his hand over his heart and tries to breathe. 

The Keyblade is gone, now. That strange, beautiful blade of vines and roses. But he can still feel it. The weight of it in his palm, the buzz in his mind, a warmth wrapped around his long-unused heart.

“I— I was… a wielder?”

_"Yes."_

He thinks of Xemnas, in this graveyard, looking down and calling them relics of a legacy older than time. He remembers the way he scowled, then. The holes in his memory he had never acknowledged. The annoyance of Xemnas knowing something he did not.

Now the memories elicit a new reaction in him— something cold, something hot, like molten iron in his chest. He thinks of Sora— of Roxas— of all those wielders of light, Keyblades in hand, remembers looking at the strength of their abilities and thinking _if I had a power like that on my side—_

And he had. All along, he had.

Except… no. He hadn’t, had he? He can feel it now, humming in his chest— the Keyblade, like a song. It’s… new. Uncertain. He thinks he would have known if he’d felt this before.

“I don’t understand,” Lauriam says, because he doesn’t. “What…?”

Something flickers in his vision. The wind made solid, dust given form, light become shape. A boy, perhaps a few years younger than he, and yet, despite his indistinct form— somehow, Lauriam can imagine. Somehow he knows what this strange boy must look like. White hair. Green eyes. Red scarf.

_"There’s a lot I don’t know. I’m sorry. But I saw you there, when the war woke me up again. I saw the others, too. I know… who you became. Marluxia."_

His fingers curl in the dirt. He feels his expression go cold. “So you will not answer me.”

 _"In some ways, I think I don’t know you at all. And yet."_ His form flickers. His expression is tired and drawn. " _I see your heart. And the Keyblade, it still answered your call. And… you don’t remember me, but I remember you. Lauriam. You… you were so kind to us. I don’t think I could have made it without you. And I was happy, to know you. To know all of you. For all of the darkness that followed us… those days in the clocktower have become a precious memory."_

Lauriam says nothing to this. He has nothing to say. He feels struck silent. 

_"So much has happened. My memory, too, has begun to fade. I slept for so long… but I’m awake now. And I… despite everything. I want to trust you. I really, really do."_

Lauriam stares at the ground. He doesn’t answer. His mouth is dry.

_"Do you remember the one you’re looking for?"_

The name drags from his chest. “Strelitzia.”

He can’t see it, but he gets the sense the boy is smiling at him. " _Your sister."_

He hadn’t known that, per se, but the words settle over him not as a surprise but like a snap— like something obvious, dredged up from the dirt and brought to light. He feels dizzy again. His little sister. It sounds right. It _feels_ right. 

Strelitzia.

For a moment, his vision blurs. He remembers— a child, head bowed, shuffling over broken pottery. Voice small and sad. _Sorry, Lauriam._

And his own voice, so much younger and so much softer saying back, _It’s okay._

He blinks fast. His eyes burn. “Did, did I ever—?”

_"No. I’m sorry. Even now, she remains lost."_

“Then…”

_"Will you go?"_

Of this there is no question. 

Lauriam gets to his feet. He looks out over the graveyard, thinks— the war, our war, _everyone I know is dead_ — and turns away from it. There is something rising in his throat. Maybe it is horror. An ancient Keyblade legacy, Xemnas had said, and Lauriam can feel the truth of it in his bones. The first Keyblade war. The catastrophe that threw the world into ruin.

And he had been convinced to start it all again.

A new burn, this time, in his chest. He is self-aware enough to know it is shame.

Lauriam exhales, shaky, and closes his eyes tight against the burn of tears. He grits his teeth. He takes another breath, and holds himself steady. 

“Thank you,” he tells the voice in the wind, and steels his heart to leave. One breath, then another— and then he turns on his heel, and leaves it all behind him. He walks away from the Keyblades. Ephemer. The war he does not remember. He walks away— 

And hears, behind him, laughter.

_"Oh, Lauriam. Didn’t you hear me?_

_"I am with you. Always._

_"This time, my friend, I won’t let you go alone."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ephemer's presence in the graveyard has haunted me since his reveal, and it really made me wonder how much of the second War he saw?? Did he see Marluxia, Ventus, Roxas? What made him interfere the second timeline around, and not the first? Anyway, these questions are what inspired the whole story to start with, along with the wish for Lauriam to figure out just how screwy his past really is. 
> 
> Ephemer is surprisingly difficult to write. It's hard to balance "cheerful kid" with "Keyblade Master, also dead and a ghost, and saw Lauriam trying to end the world like, two days ago." Not to mention whatever he saw during the end of KHUx. The more I write him, hopefully the easier it'll be, ahaha.
> 
> Any thoughts??


	2. elrena

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lauriam finds an old friend in a new place, and uncovers a few more memories along the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ended up faaaaar longer than I meant it to be, and yes, that is two extra chapters I've added to the chapter limit thing, and anyway this is getting to be a full-fledged story now, huh
> 
> I'm just writing this for bonding, guys. Bonding, and vivid khux flashbacks. (.......and angst.)
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy!!

It takes a couple of tries for Ephemer to convince him to create a portal from the power of the Keyblade; Lauriam insists it isn’t possible, and Ephemer insists right back that it is, he just doesn’t remember how. When the portal finally forms Lauriam is dizzy from success and even dizzier at the sound of Ephemer’s laughter, loud and bright and echoing in the breeze. For a moment he can see the memory in full—sunset red light and this boy sitting alone at a round table, chin cradled in his hand, smile bright. Laughing. _I should have just asked for your help from the get-go, huh?_

He blinks the memory away, and stares at the portal with a sinking feeling. Ephemer settles beside him, less physical and more a sense. In the dusty breeze of this graveyard eternal, he looks like the faded image of a person, blurred by the edges of the world. 

_“Are you afraid?”_

“Of course not.”

 _“Hmm,_ ” Ephemer says, and though he can’t quite see the other, Lauriam knows he is smiling. He’s not sure how he knows this. It’s not a memory, per se, nor even nostalgia—just fact. A true thing, like the Keyblade’s song ringing soft echoes in his ears. A sure thing. Ephemer, smiling. 

“ _Well, okay then.”_

Lauriam presses his lips and looks at the portal—swirling light and whispers of power. “You’re sure this will work?” he asks, ill at ease with how closely it resembles a dark corridor. He feels exposed without the protective shell of the Organization’s signature coat, weak and ill-guarded. His scythe is gone and his former powers with it; all Lauriam has is a Keyblade he cannot remember how to use, no matter if the blade recognizes him, and a ghost of a boy who lingers at the edges of Lauriam’s memory like a very persistent shadow. 

_“It’s how we got around before.”_

“Is it?” He can’t recall such a thing, and it makes him scowl, a bit. “Hm.”

_“Perfectly safe!”_

Lauriam doesn’t answer. 

_“See, I can tell you’re doubting me, but I promise— it’s fine. If you held your wish in your heart and focused the way I said, then it’s sure to take you where you want to go.”_

The problem, Lauriam thinks, is that he doesn’t know where he wants to go. Which is perhaps why the portal unsettles him so much. Ephemer’s presence, the echoes of laughter, this unfamiliar tension wound tight in his chest— the song of the Keyblade, still ringing distant in his ears. He’d lifted his blade and the portal had unfurled like flowers almost at once; where is it, then, that his heart wants so badly to go—and why can’t Lauriam figure it out?

Are hearts always such a mystery to the people wielding them? Lauriam has forgotten how annoying it is. 

(And how frightening.)

He stares at the portal with lips pressed thin.

“And you’re sure,” he says, slowly, “that you’ll be able to… follow me through?”

He’s not sure how to feel about that, either. In all honesty, Ephemer’s presence should grate on him; Lauriam has never been one to seek another’s company, except for maybe Larxene’s, on the days he was in the mood to deal with her. And yet, the idea of leaving this boy behind—of leaving this graveyard alone—the very thought is withering. In the moment before Ephemer laughed and promised to stay, turning away from these graves, and from him, had felt a little like dying.

Ephemer’s laughter (always, always laughing—) and his promise to stay… no, Lauriam doesn’t know what to make of it. Because Ephemer is cheery, and earnest, and everything Marluxia could not stand, and yet upon hearing those words, Lauriam had relaxed in relief almost despite himself.

He doesn’t know Ephemer. He barely even remembers him. But they must have been friends once, surely, because there is no other explanation for why his being here is such a relief. 

_“Well,”_ Ephemer says. _“I’m going to try. I… I don’t know, honestly. I’ve never tried to leave before, though admittedly at that time there wasn’t anywhere to go… and I slept through most of the worlds being rebuilt. But I think I can leave. Really, I do.”_ Lauriam blinks, and for a moment he can see him in full— the white-haired boy, hand on his chin, squinting into the distance and humming under his breath. _“It helps that I’m leaving with you.”_

Lauriam considers this. “Why?”

_“Well, you know. Our hearts are connected, and all that.”_

Lauriam presses his lips. He almost wants to scoff, and yet— well. Does he have any room to disagree? He had opened his eyes and named Ephemer at once, despite not remembering him at all. And even now, he is stalling, and for what? The portal is right there. What does it matter, whether Ephemer can follow him, unless Lauriam actually wants him there?

“…I see,” Lauriam says, at last, and sighs through his teeth, regarding the portal with resignation. “I suppose we will have to see to find out.”

_“That’s the spirit!”_

Lauriam shakes his head and steels his shoulders. He looks behind him one last time. The graveyard. The Keyblades, left dead and dull in the dirt. He closes his eyes, and feels them ache with phantom pain.

“Then,” he says, and keeps his voice steady. “Let us go.”

He turns and walks through the portal. He leaves the graveyard behind. But as he steps into the gate, away from this place of nightmares and memory, he can hear Ephemer, faintly, soft and sad and knowing, speaking to the air.

 _“I’m sorry,”_ he says.

.

The change in place is near immediate—the dust gone, the tang of blood that lingers eternal in the graveyard replaced by a musky scent that reminds him of rainwater and cobblestone. The air is cool here, and damp, almost a fog—and when he opens his eyes it is to see a small town set against a star-lit midnight sky, with street lamps alight with a warm glow and close-knit blocky buildings built of dark wood and uneven brick. It is a quiet place, a soft sort of place—and it is, Lauriam realizes at once, entirely empty.

Lauriam stands there, uncertain, Keyblade held awkward in his hand. He flexes his fingers and it vanishes. The warmth of it lingers. He shivers. For a moment, he is afraid to ask. 

He grits his teeth, and prepares for the worst. “Ephemer?”

Silence. Something cold ices down his spine. His fingers curl. He takes a breath— 

_“Oh! Sorry, sorry, I— I’m here. Sorry.”_

He squeezes his eyes shut, feeling winded. “You…”

_“I haven’t seen the stars in a while. They took me by surprise. I, um. Didn’t mean to— yes, anyway, sorry. I’m here. Still! Still here.”_

He exhales a hard breath, but now that the chill has passed he almost wants to laugh. It is a strange feeling: fond, warm, nostalgic. A faint sensation, half-way to memory, of shaking his head and turning his face away to hide a smile. A moment from long ago. 

“Where are we?” Lauriam asks, instead of indulging the echo, and steps out into the street. Cobble beneath his feet, and fountains full of still water… it feels like a world suspended, a moment in time, like the whole place is holding its breath. Behind him, the portal slips closed with nary a sound. “Why this place?”

_“Hmm… well, that has a long answer and a short answer.”_

Lauriam looks over. For a moment he can almost see him—Ephemer, blurred against the backdrop of the world, fingers tangled sheepishly in his hair, rubbing the back of his neck. An embarrassed smile. 

“ _I have no idea.”_

“Excuse me,” Lauriam says, chilly.

 _“I just woke up! And I’ve been sleeping for—”_ Ephemer almost seems to stumble. “ _A long time. I, um, I have no idea what this place is. What most places are? I don’t know, I haven’t seen it…”_

“No idea?” Lauriam repeats, incredulous, and then something Ephemer has said hits him sideways. He stops. A few more off-hand comments slot into place. Something cold ices down his spine. Lauriam stares at the ground, struck. “...The first Keyblade War.”

Ephemer takes a moment to respond. The laughter has fled from him. “ _…What about it?”_

“That was… we were there. Weren’t we?” He cannot think of anything else that would match those faint nightmare images lingering like scars in the back of his mind. The fear, the sick lurch of his gut, the brief flash of a memory, of stepping down into a ruined field—the Keyblade Graveyard—and seeing the bodies not yet vanished, of looking down and realizing that what he had thought were rivers was actually blood. 

_“Yes,”_ Ephemer says, and for a moment sounds so uncharacteristically empty that Lauriam almost falters. 

But the confirmation makes something else chill in him, too. Because the Keyblade War does not even count as a memory. It is not even history. It is so old, so long ago, that it has become fantasy, become fairytale, become more story than fact. For such a tragedy to be forgotten—how many years does that take? How many millennia? And for the first time it strikes Lauriam, truly and honestly— how on earth, then, is he _here?_

(And the others—the others. Strelitzia and those blurred faces he can’t quite recall—what of them? Are they alive? Are they here with him? Or are they so far away that even memories of them are lost, taken whole by time?

...How long has Ephemer been in that graveyard?)

There is a long pause. Lauriam barely breathes. Ephemer does not speak.

“…I see,” Lauriam says, and turns away. 

Ephemer is quiet for another moment. Then he sighs. _“I’m sure the others are okay,”_ he says, and Lauriam catches the faintest flicker of a smile before Ephemer fades from view once again. _“I don’t know where you all fell, but… I know—I’m sure you aren’t the only one who made it.”_

Lauriam considers this. He shakes his head and starts walking. If neither of them know this strange in-between town, he might as well start exploring. Surely he is here for a reason? “You sound so certain,” he remarks. “Do you have any idea where they might be?” 

_“Um, that’s…”_

Lauriam frowns. “I wonder if perhaps I should have stayed at the Graveyard for a little longer. If I appeared there, then…” The thought makes his skin crawl, even as he says it. The idea of walking through those rows and rows of Keyblades, those deadened hearts turned cold and rusted, makes something lurch ill in his gut. But if it means finding the others, whoever they are—and most importantly, if it means finding Strelitzia—

 _“Haha, well…”_ Ephemer trails off. _“U-um, I’m not sure. I have some ideas? But regardless, I don’t think…”_ He goes a little quiet. _“Not the graveyard,”_ he says, finally. _“I think they’d go anywhere but there.”_

And Lauriam can understand that. But at the same time, it makes him wonder—why, then, had _he_ woken there?

He feels cold. He rubs absently at his arm, and pushes open a door to an abandoned house. Chairs and tables and empty plates. No one has been here for a long time. He closes the door, and moves on. 

He must be here for a reason, he thinks. The Keyblade, singing; this town, unknown to them both, appearing from the depths. There must be something here. There must be _something_. 

Their conversation has fallen into silence. Lauriam pushes past an ache he didn’t know he had, and keeps looking.

There must be something more to this, he thinks, than just ghosts.

.

He explores this first district for what feels like hours; in all that time, nothing of note appears. After the eleventh empty house, Lauriam slams the door shut and marches for the district gates. Why is he even here? There is nothing in this place, no one and no clues at all. He is wasting his time.

Ephemer says nothing as they head to the next district; if it weren’t for the flickers of him in the corner of his eyes, Lauriam would almost think him lost. Finding Ephemer is like an exercise in snapshot moments: Lauriam blinks as he opens the gate and sees a flash of white hair by his elbow as the boy leans to look out behind him—blinks again as he steps through, and a blurry figure of a boy with a red scarf is now half-way down the street, hands linked behind his back and rocking on his heels, peering through the windows. Blinks again, closing the doors behind him, and then—

Ephemer’s voice, right by his ears. _“There’s a workshop! With a screen, too; I guess technology came back to that level, huh? Maybe we can find some information.”_

Lauriam shakes the dizziness away and heads for the workshop. That’s not a bad idea at all, he thinks. He looks beside himself, and sees the faintest afterimage of Ephemer walking next to him.

He pushes open the door, taking in the workshop in full. It’s a small room— cluttered with desks and chairs and paper half-inked. But his eyes are drawn to the wall, to the wide screen taking up half the space, and the memory hits him so hard and so sudden he almost falls over.

Cold stone and towering ceilings, and another boy sitting before the screen—washed out by the white light, eyes dim and shadowed and bruised sleepless beneath his hat. Lauriam steps up to his side and frowns down at him, and says, _Have you been here all night? You need to rest—_

And the boy looks up, eyes rolling, the book in his hands already snapped shut.

_I don’t need you to worry for me, Lauriam._

“Brain,” he whispers.

“ _W_ _hat?”_

Lauriam startles. “I—”

_“Are you okay?”_

“—yes. Yes. I’m fine.” He’s not. He feels shaky. 

Ephemer is quiet again. He stands at Lauriam’s elbow, the most solid he’s been thus far; he’s frowning. _“Brain,”_ he repeats. _“Did you… um, do you remember him?”_

“…He was—” The words fall away. Lauriam grits his teeth. 

_“A friend,”_ Ephemer says, softly, knowing. _“He used to…”_ He trails off, then laughs. _“When we would go looking—or around town—I remember, you never wanted to come. You’d stay behind and help with his research, and—”_

Something sparks in his memory. “He used to make me stand there and hold beakers,” Lauriam mutters, and even as he speaks he’s unsure of the memory, but—yes. It is there. He can recall it like a distant dream—being younger and surer and standing there, glass bottles in hand, annoyed but mostly just resisting the urge to roll his eyes. And just before he could get too cross—

_Oh, right, you’re here too. Do these equations for me?_

—Brain, Lauriam tells himself. _His name was Brain. He was my friend._ And even if he cannot remember everything… like Ephemer’s laughter, like the Keyblade in his hand, it settles in his new-gotten heart like a truth. 

He forces himself away from the room, steps outside and tries to remember how to breathe. He needs to go to the computer—see if it’s working, if it is any use at all—but he cannot make his feet move, and when he closes his eyes he realizes his vision is spinning. He rests his head in his hands and leans against the wall, and breathes until his hands stop shaking.

Ephemer is silent. 

“I’ve forgotten.” His voice is dry. Lauriam almost laughs. Friends, he thinks. Family. _Hearts,_ hah. Only a little while ago he would have disdained them, but even if his memories of being Marluxia are stronger than his memories of being Lauriam, a heart apparently makes all the difference. To turn blank spaces into missing pieces, to make him miss the moments that used to fill his past. And he realizes, then, all at once, why he never remembered anything all those years with the Organization.

Hearts. Such fragile things. Whatever vestiges of his heart had formed, Marluxia had likely crushed it willingly, without realizing, if only to escape the burden of it—and these memories, Lauriam is realizing, are all from the heart. Grief. Regret. Fondness. The images come only after, the thunder after lightning, the echo following the heartbeat. Without one there is no other, and now—heart returned and an old friend by his side—these forgotten things have returned with a vengeance. 

Ephemer’s voice is quiet, again. _“It’s okay.”_

“It’s not.”

Ephemer takes a long time to reply. When he does, he sounds even quieter than before. _“…I know.”_

Lauriam curls his fingers into his hair, and then forces his hands down, rising back to his feet. In seconds, he’s under control once again, and he shakes his head, trying to chase away the echoes. He brushes the dust of the empty town from his shirt, and pretends his hands aren’t still shaking. 

“Right,” he says. “The computer—” 

And then he stops, eyes widening, at the sound of footsteps.

 _“Is that—”_ Ephemer starts, bewildered, and then Larxene ducks around the corner and almost runs right into them. _“Woah!”_

“What—”

“Hey, asshole! Watch where you’re—”

“Larxene,” Lauriam says, surprised, but as soon as he says it his mind rebels, hisses _Elrena_ and _ally_ and— and Larxene, or Elrena, or whoever she’s become, stops mid-word and lurches back _._

“Apologies,” Lauriam says, before she can speak. He’s starting to feel a bit dizzy. “Elrena.”

She looks almost exactly as he remembers— only without the coat, now, dressed in a linen top and sharp slacks. Her hair slicked back from her eyes. She opens her mouth as though to speak, and at the sound of her name snaps it shut, eyes going wide. “What?” she says, bewildered. She blinks twice and straightens. “Marluxia?”

His smile freezes at the edges. All at once, any delight at seeing her turns ashy on his tongue. Right. Right.

“Yes,” he says, carefully. He remembers her. He remembers beyond just Marluxia— remembers a sun-lit town and Elrena sitting on the steps, frowning off into the horizon. It is only the barest glimpse of a memory, but it is enough. He _knows_ her. Impossibly, ironically, he has apparently known her all along.

And so to hear the wrong name from her, of all people, cuts deeper than he would have thought. 

“What are you doing here?” she says, and she’s starting to grin now, something sharp and familiar. “Did you wake up here too? Ugh, thank god, I was starting to get _really_ bored— ” She stops. Her eyes narrow. “No, I… wait. How the fuck did you know my name?”

Ephemer has vanished from sight, but Lauriam can hear him hum, like a distant buzz of static. _“Hey…”_ he says, thoughtfully. _“She was fighting with you and the other coat-people in the graveyard, wasn’t she?”_

Lauriam winces. “That is…” 

“I didn’t tell it to you,” Elrena continues. “I mean, I don’t think so. So how—” For the first time she seems to look at Lauriam properly, up and down with a scowl, and her expression falters. Her head tilts as if hearing something from far away. She blinks very fast and inhales sharp through her teeth. “…Lauriam.”

Lauriam stares at her. Well, he thinks, a little stunned. That was quick.

 _“Huh?”_ Ephemer says, for once sounding fully and entirely taken off-guard. Elrena jumps. This time, it seems Ephemer is letting her hear him. _“Oh. Oh! Um, um—Elrena. Oh, wow. From Vulpes, right?”_

“What? What?” Ephemer flickers in the corner of Lauriam’s eyes, and Elrena lunges back, a knife flashing in her hand. “The fuck?”

 _“Oh, uh—um, right, you probably don’t… I mean, I hardly remember you, and we didn’t really interact…”_ Ephemer sounds sheepish. _“I’m Ephemer. It’s nice to meet you.”_

Elrena turns to Lauriam. Her expression is a sight to behold, and despite everything, Lauriam almost smiles. “The hell,” she says. “You—and whatever he is—what?”

“It’s been a day,” Lauriam demurs. “A lot has happened. I didn’t expect to find you here, Elrena.” He frowns. “You… knew my name, as well. How much do you remember?”

She looks uneasy. Her eyes flash through the air, as though trying to find Ephemer again. “…Not much, until just now,” she says, wary. “Your name. Uh, I don’t know, a rooftop? And—” She pauses. Her eyes flash to him. “You were… we were looking for someone.”

“Yes.” His mouth feels dry. He closes his eyes. “Strelitzia. My—”

“Sister,” Elrena finishes. She’s blinking fast. “Your sister. And…that kid, what—”

“Ephemer,” Lauriam explains, and when her expression doesn’t change he blinks. “You… don’t know—?”

 _“We never met, officially,”_ Ephemer says, appearing beside them both. Elrena jumps. Ephemer smiles up at her. _“But I know Lauriam, and a friend of a friend is just a friend still in progress, isn’t it? So either way, I’m glad to see you’re okay! Sorry I didn’t recognize you until now.”_

Elrena gives Lauriam a look, scornful and mocking. Lauriam stares back, frowning. It doesn’t surprise him, her reaction to Ephemer—and in truth, such pep from anyone else would likely elicit the same from him—but he cannot find it in himself to sneer at Ephemer’s words, his kindness, his cheery asides. Not with all these echoes in his head. Not with the sheer weight of relief that had fallen on him, when Ephemer had said, _This time, I won’t let you go alone._

When Lauriam doesn’t react, Elrena falters. Her next glance at Ephemer is considering, narrow-eyed, watchful. Ephemer just beams.

She squints at him, and finally turns away. “…Sure. Whatever.”

How wonderful that they’re getting along, Lauriam thinks dryly, and then replays the conversation back in his head and blinks. Vulpes. What had Ephemer meant by that? It makes him think of stained glass and a fox mask, but that leaves him with more questions than a true answer. 

But regardless, Lauriam thinks, now is not the time. There’s something else bothering him. “Why were you running?” he asks Elrena, curious. “Is something wrong?”

“Oh, that.” She pulls her eyes away from Ephemer and straightens, tension slowly bleeding from her shoulders, but doesn’t put her knife away just yet. “I thought I heard…” She looks confused, bleary, one hand on her head, and for a moment she squints at Lauriam like she is seeing someone else in his place. “…Never mind.”

He considers her. “If you’re sure.”

“…Yeah.” She crosses her arms, and casts a quick glance around. “So, what about you? Did you wake up here too?”

“No,” Lauriam admits. “Elsewhere. I came here through… certain means.” He doesn’t know yet how much she recalls, and _I made a portal no one remembers how to make with a Keyblade I barely remember how to wield_ is just a bit too bizarre to voice aloud. “I didn’t choose to come here, exactly. It’s just… where I ended up.”

“Oh,” she says, and her brow furrows. “So you’ve just been looking around, then?”

“Until you showed up, yes.” 

“Right…”

Lauriam blinks and looks over her again. Something about her tone strikes him as odd; even Ephemer, who claims to hardly know her, appears a few feet away with his head tilted in curiosity, looking at Elrena with a thoughtful expression. 

Elrena, for her part, seems oddly conflicted. She shifts on her feet, flicking her knife through her fingers. “Right,” she says again. Lauriam eyes her. She glares back, defiant, and then immediately looks away. “…And did you find anything?”

“Just you,” he says, slowly. “Elrena—”

“Look—” She scowls. “Did you… hear something?” 

Lauriam stares at her, confused and a little alarmed. “What?”

“When you— I don’t know. Went looking.”

“No,” Lauriam says, after a very long pause. He waits. She doesn’t say anything. He narrows his eyes and asks the obvious question: “Did you?” 

She hesitates again. She looks around. Ephemer is strangely quiet. And then, sounding almost unsure of herself—

“No,” Elrena says, at last. “It’s nothing.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lauriam is feeling A Lot Of Things and yes, he's ignoring all of them. Or, well, trying to. (Though to be fair, Ephemer isn't any better.) Given Marluxia's kind of... loner tendencies (excluding Larxene, mostly), I figure having friends would kind of bull-doze the guy. He's realizing just how lonely he really is, and was for years, all the while grappling with these memories of friends he can barely recall and yet misses dearly.
> 
> Ephemer's in the same boat, mainly. Like, legit: how long was he in the graveyard?? KHUx?? Hello!!??? IS HE OKAY
> 
> Anyway, on a lighter note, Elrena was a delight to write. She has no memories of the war, so the revelations are shocking, but not as terrible for her. Though of course, she has her own issues to deal with... I'm super excited to share what I have planned for her and Lauriam!! We're getting into the plot now, folks.
> 
> Any thoughts?


End file.
